I woke up to the sound of clattering dishes and the distant laughter of children. At first, I thought I was dreaming. But when I opened my eyes, I realized immediately something was wrong.
This wasn’t my bedroom.
The walls were painted a soft sea-green, decorated with framed photos of smiling children I didn’t recognize. A woman’s floral robe hung on a hook near the door. And the bed I was in? Much bigger than mine. Much softer too.
My heart hammered in my chest.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice cracking.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. A boy — maybe seven or eight — burst into the room, grinning like Christmas morning.
“Dad! You’re finally awake!”
“Dad?” I repeated, frozen.
Before I could respond, he ran over and hugged me. A second child — a girl with curls bouncing around her shoulders — poked her head in.
“Daddy! Mommy says breakfast will get cold!”
My throat tightened. My palms went sweaty.
This is a nightmare. Has to be.
“I… I’m not your dad,” I whispered.
But the kids only laughed, exchanging looks like I was being silly. And then she appeared in the doorway.
A woman I had never seen in my life.
Brown hair in a messy bun. Sweatpants. Tired eyes. But she smiled at me with warmth like we’d known each other forever.
“Rough night?” she teased. “Come on, we’re waiting on you.”
I stared at her, my mind spinning.
“I don’t know where I am,” I said. “I don’t know you.”
The smile dropped from her face.
“Mark… what are you talking about?”
“I’m not Mark,” I whispered. “My name is Evan.”
She blinked. Swallowed. Put a hand to her mouth.
“Evan… that’s… the name of my ex-fiancé.”
I felt lightheaded. “Where is this? What happened?”
Tears filled her eyes as she stepped closer. “Mark, please. This isn’t funny. Not today.”
“Why not today?” I asked, trembling.
Her voice cracked.
“Today is the anniversary of our breakup.”
Silence crushed the room.
The kids stopped smiling. The woman started sobbing.
I backed away, desperate for escape, desperate for answers, desperate for reality to make sense—
And suddenly everything went black.
I jerked awake — again.
This time in my bed.
In my room.
My own alarm buzzing loudly beside me.
I bolted upright, sweating through my shirt.
My wife, Emily, stirred beside me.
“What’s wrong?” she mumbled.
I exhaled shakily. “I… I had a nightmare.”
She pulled me closer. “Your subconscious must be tired after last night.”
“Last night?” I asked.
She smiled. “You met with the therapist about your past-life regression session, remember? You said you wanted to try it for fun.”
My blood ran cold.
A memory flickered — lying in a recliner, counting backward, the therapist’s calm voice guiding me deeper and deeper…
“Did it… work?” I asked quietly.
My wife shrugged. “You told me you didn’t experience anything. You barely remembered the session.”
I swallowed hard.
Because now I did.
And somewhere, in a reality that might’ve been a life before this one…
A woman named Lily was crying for the man I used to be.
